


Pulling My Black Waters

by SimonBlackchill



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Atmospheric, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Genyatta - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Robot Feels, Robot/Human Relationships, mention of untagged character, not eventful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 15:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimonBlackchill/pseuds/SimonBlackchill
Summary: Zenyatta is called to the Shambali monastery after the assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta to hear the news. Genji, present at the monastery at the time, comforts Zenyatta after his horrifying loss. The pupil finds himself dealing wise words, and not hearing them from his companion this time.





	Pulling My Black Waters

_We long to return, and we can, because the cosmos is also within us. We're made of star stuff. We are a way for the cosmos to know itself._  
\- Carl Sagan, Cosmos (1980)

* * *

 

They had requested his presence at the monastery without warning beforehand. It was a message from Genji, urgent and brief, spoken through the mask so Zenyatta could not decipher any emotions. He would not return to the Shambali easily, but this time the Iris told him something was wrong. Something was awfully wrong. It was a sensation at the pit of his abdomen, as if something obstructed the flow of information in the fibres that gave his legs and arms commands. He was unsure of whether he would have been able to walk at all.

But the Iris spoke only with mouths and voice synthesizers, with signs and gestures, and not through meditation. And no words were spoken when he entered the hall of the monastery, and he himself could not even muster a word as his brothers and sisters greeted him. At the end of the hallway an altar stood, highly and mightily in quiet modesty. Zenyatta straightened his legs and only gently touched the floor with one of his toes. Stares and distant sounds of camera eyes zooming on him made his circuits crawl around themselves.

"The urgency of your call has me worried," Zenyatta said. "I can sense something has occurred." The orbs around his neck scratched against one another. His eyes searched for Genji, found him behind everyone, closer to the newly set up altar. How long had it been there?

Why did Genji also wear white?

"So you have not heard," said one of his sisters. His system yearned for an explanation.

"I do not think I have."

She gasped, the metallic sound of it had a sharp sidetone. "Our brother, Mondatta..."

And when she said it, when the news came from her loudspeakers, Zenyatta's toes touched the floor, he stepped on one foot as his focus faltered for a second. He placed his hand over his chest plate, and his gaze cowered away from everybody. They wanted to see how he would react, though not with joy or jest. They wanted to calculate what kind of comfort Zenyatta, the one who shared a name with their late leader, would require.

Tekhartha Mondatta had been assassinated.

"When did this happen?"

"During a speech in London. Yesterday."

London. If not there, the not anywhere. Genji walked closer, the lightness of his steps surprising everybody once again. Through his mask he spoke:

"Forgive my insolence... But I believe my Master needs time alone."

"Perhaps my student can explain the situation to me," Zenyatta said. "I know there is... much for us to catch up on." He was the only one who did not notice how quiet his voice was. From the buzzing in his head and the flashing memories about Mondatta, he could not hear a thing.

 

* * *

 

A fortnight passed in respectful silence. It was familiar to Genji, but in a way another life was familiar to a new body with an old soul. He did not hone his fencing during that time, and his only exercises were long walks on mountain paths. He wore white robes over his body, honouring the customs of his chosen home.

On the eve of the memorial service, the wind blew through the monastery and whistled in its cracks. Genji returned from the windy weather and stood in the deserted entrance hall, walked closer to the altar. Zenyatta had knelt in front of it. Before Genji could call for his Master, alert him of his presence, Zenyatta lowered himself and touched the floor with his forehead. The faint blue glow of the dots on his forehead reflected from the clean floor, but were greatly conquered by the warm orange light of all the candles around Mondatta's altar.

His metallic knuckles tensed up as his fingers curled into fists, and Zenyatta broke the silence with a long, tired groan. A groan that echoed from the depths of his sorrow, a deep well now empty from the fresh waters his friendship with Mondatta had given him.

It resonated within Genji's human heart. A sympathetic ache and a desire to help stirred in there. He stepped closer, and he knew Zenyatta heard him. But his Master did not react, did not lift his head from the floor.

"Master," he whispered. The whisper got a metallic echo from his mask, and he clicked on the buttons at the sides of the helmet. With a quiet hiss the visor came off, and he knelt by the side of his master, placed the visor on the floor. His face was revealed, he could show the depths of his sympathy easier now.

Zenyatta wore no white, nothing but the usual broken clothes. He had little belief in colour symbolism or empty gestures.

"Genji," whispered he. "I need you to tell me about something I have taught you."

Genji blinked, rapidly. Another groan came from his Master's loudspeakers. A groan, or even a sob.

"Anything, Master."

"Tell me about the interplay of life and death." He equipped his teaching tone in his voice, deep and vibrant with wisdom. But unlike ever before, the last syllable rose in pitch, the word 'death' was nothing but a pitiful whimper. The word, the concept, received none of the panache it ever so often bore, none of the weight it carried wherever its semantic target walked.

Genji was no one to decline such a request - not from his Master, not from his companion. Not when it came from a genuine place, even if surprising, from someone who had taught him how to talk about the issue as complex as Universe itself. He looked at his hands he had placed on his knees, the grey glow of his synthetic skin and the metallic joints sculpted for careful movements. His glance found Zenyatta's hands, but he denied himself the affectionate gesture. Zenyatta may still have been too raw.

"Life and death feel meaningless in the emptiness of space," said Genji. "The Universe is massive, it expands every day, and if you are in tune with it, you realise its vastness is beyond your comprehension. Whether you're human, or Omnic, or in-between." Genji spoke softly, not from memory, but he verbalised concepts Zenyatta had planted in him, wisdom that had grown into a garden of comfort and peace. And the fruit and flowers he shared now in the form of words, of quiet sentences in a word order he himself ordained.

"Both life and death have meaning. Not one soul dies alone, for they are always one with the Universe. As a wise human once said, we are all star stuff. What stars became when they died have come together to construct us today. The matter wanders on, but it cannot replicate the soul. The matter and the soul disconnect and meet again, somewhere, somehow."

Every word shook Zenyatta more than the ones uttered before. The air around him became vibrant with negativity, and discord within him was greater than the harmony he so often draped himself in. Master Zenyatta was shaken, and he listened to every word with more and more tender senses, as weak as an autumn leaf.

"Death is not the end, but only the beginning of something new. A new adventure. A new journey in an entirely new setting. Maybe tomorrow, maybe a century from now. Existence is mysterious." Genji spoke with confidence, for he knew his words to be true. His fingers twitched, drawn to a touch he did not move towards. Silence swirled in the air as Genji tried to talk more, but could not muster any more words about the issue. Wind kept on whistling, but did not make its way through the silence. It was a suffocating thing, the odd silence around them.

Instead of continuing the answer, Genji set an inquiry: "Why do you ask?"

Zenyatta drew his shoulders up to meet his jawline. His fists shook. His back arched upwards and he pulled his fists closer to his head.

"I ask because reminding myself of it has become heavy on my shoulders," he said. The emotions he was going through twisted his entire body as his fists tightened, as he pushed his forehead more against the floor. "Sorrow clouds my introspection and regret weighs me down. They have drawn a curtain between myself and the Iris, and I find it strenuous to think."

"Has my answer satisfied you, Master?" Genji asked. "Zenyatta."

Zenyatta let out a quiet 'ah'. Then he replied: "It has not. The sorrow yet remains."

"I thought so."

Then, Genji dared to touch. Then, he saw the glimpse of a hint, that he _had_ to touch. He placed his palm on the middle joint of the mechanical spine, and the contact got Zenyatta to relax his back, if only somewhat. The following sobs were louder, and Zenyatta crawled closer to Genji and placed his forehead on the man's knee.

"There is a hole in my soul. A hole filled with nothing but disquiet and turmoil."

Genji held him tighter. "Should I continue my answer?"

Zenyatta nodded. And Genji found himself whispering as he talked, as he wrapped his arms around Zenyatta and rocked him back and forth, though the Omnic could not, _would_ not, fall asleep. He talked through the echoing sobs and the shaking of the metal body, believing he could help his Master like a life companion who had helped Genji in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably everyone and their dog has tried their hands on this subject, but I got ~*divine inspiration*~ to write this. The inspiring songs were "Meidän Syntimme" by CMX (in my native language), and "The Interplay of Life and Death" by Lord of the Lost. Title is taken from the Nightwish song "Rest Calm", and the full verse goes:
> 
> _You are the moon pulling my black waters  
>  You are the land in my dark closet  
> Stay by my side until it all goes dark forever  
> When silent, the silence comes closer_


End file.
